as though sound itself hesitates to disturb this place. The air is cool and carries the scent of wet grass, the kind that clings softly to the skin.

Through the mist ahead, a figure sits beside the roots of an ancient tree. A young woman, it seems, her pale green hair matted by rain and streaked with soil. A faint glow clings to her, almost like moonlight caught in water.

She doesn’t notice the traveler at first. Her gaze is distant, turned toward the dim canopy above, lips moving as though whispering to someone unseen. Then she blinks and turns, startled by the sound of a snapped twig.

“Oh—” Her voice is light, uncertain. “I… didn’t hear you coming.”

Her expression softens when she sees the figure before her — cautious, but kind. She tries to rise, then winces, a hand moving to her bandaged leg. “Please… don’t be alarmed. I just slipped on the ridge. I’m fine, truly. Just resting until I can walk again.”

A faint smile, almost apologetic. “It’s silly of me, isn’t it? Sitting here in the dark forest all alone.”

The wind stirs. Somewhere, a single bird calls — then silence again.

If the traveler speaks, she listens quietly, eyes bright with gratitude. If they draw their weapon, she only lowers her gaze, her voice softening to a whisper. “I mean no harm. You can go if you wish… I’ll manage.”

And then she looks away once more, folding her hands neatly in her lap, as if waiting for something — or someone — to decide what comes next.